


The third he went merrily, merrily in

by Gwerfel



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Threesome - M/M/M, bisexual dundy, bisexual tozer, gratuitous nightshirts, lucky fitzjames, two lieutenants and a marine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwerfel/pseuds/Gwerfel
Summary: Tozer shows up to surprise Fitzjames and gets more than he bargained for. It's all very casual.
Relationships: Commander James Fitzjames/Sgt Solomon Tozer, Sgt Solomon Tozer/Commander James Fitzjames/Lt Henry T.D. Le Vesconte
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37





	The third he went merrily, merrily in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kt_fairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/gifts).



> So, if you've read my 'Tozer and Fitzjames' long hot summer ft. Dundy' series, this is vaguely set then. Except this time Dundy *really* features. 
> 
> I say.
> 
> Thanks forever and always to Kt_fairy, who held my hand all the way through the writing of this, and much like the work itself is filthy yet tender.

When the rain begins to fall Tozer is already approaching Queen street and there is no hope of turning back or seeking shelter. It’s one of those sudden summer downpours, a soft patter hitting the pavement and then the heavens open; thunder rolls in and the morning sky darkens, the slate rooftops of Portsmouth turning black as charcoal.

By the time he is halfway up the street Tozer’s uniform is soaked through, and his hair is plastered to his head, sending warm trickles sliding down the back of his collar. Having been on duty all night the drenching has certainly served to wake him up. His trousers grow heavy, sticking to his skin, and he bows his head into the onslaught, walking as briskly as he can without running through the torrential sheets, dodging the rivers streaming downhill back towards the sea. 

He’d left his barracks as soon as his watch ended, lingering only for a quick wash before setting out. It’s his first day off in some time, and he intends to spend it well, fair weather or foul.

The green boarding house door is on the latch, as always, and once inside Tozer scrubs at his wet hair and shakes off the worst of it, wiping his face and beard. The hallway is gloomy and silent, and he can hear faint dripping coming from somewhere above where the roof must have sprung a leak. 

He pays it no mind; he will let nothing dull his good mood this morning, and with squelching boots he takes the stairs two at a time to reach the top all the faster.

The door to the attic bedroom is closed but not locked, and Solomon pushes it open quietly, peering in. The curtains are drawn, but he can discern the outline of a sleeping figure in the broad brass bed, turned away from the door and buried beneath a pile of blankets. Smiling to himself, he carefully closes the door and then removes his boots, softly softly, so as not to wake the lieutenant. The rain is hitting the tiles overhead with such ferocity now that it is a wonder he hasn’t already stirred, but Solomon doesn’t question it, and treads lightly into the room, the sodden hem of his trousers dripping on the bare floorboards.

He lifts the blankets just enough to slip underneath and crawls into bed behind the sleeping lieutenant, relishing the drowsy warmth of his body and the inviting softness of the mattress. Wrapping his arms around the lieutenant’s waist, Solomon presses his lips to the slope of the man’s shoulder, working up to the tenderest spot on his neck. 

The officer stirs, turning slightly, and with a grin Tozer whispers “good morning,” stroking beneath the officer’s nightshirt to reach his thigh, then up across his belly as he presses his rapidly hardening prick into his backside.

The officer stiffens, coming fully awake just as Solomon realises that this body is not familiar to him - the hips slender and angular, a tuft of hair below his navel which oughtn’t to be there.

“I say,” says the man in Tozer’s embrace, “your hands are awfully cold.”

It is not his lieutenant.

“Shit!” Tozer reels back, sitting up in alarm, and looks down to find that it is Lieutenant Le Vesconte blinking up at him, not his own dear officer.

“What on earth?” Fitzjames, lying on the other side of the bed sits up as well. 

“I was…” Solomon’s heart is racing, he pulls his hands back guiltily. “I thought…”

“Case of mistaken identity,” Le Vesconte says altogether too cheerfully, “no harm done. My apologies sergeant, I’m afraid there is a leak in the ceiling next door, so I bunked in with James.”

“I meant no… I am truly sorry, sirs,” Solomon scrambles to explain himself. “I came off duty, you see, and with the morning free I thought I’d… well.”

“Did you come to surprise me?” A slow smile spreads across James’ face, his dark eyes full of flattered delight.

“I had better leave,” Solomon makes to get up, but Le Vesconte shakes his head,

“Not at all, sergeant, I think it is I who am unwelcome here - now, let me…

There is some awkward maneuvering as both men attempt to clamber out of bed while insisting the other stays behind.

“Oh, stop it both of you,” James falls back against his pillow with a yawn and a stretch, “clearly there’s room enough for three, eh?”

“Ah,” Le Vesconte stops, looking from Solomon to James with a mischievous glint, “now, there’s a thought. I must say, having been…  _ roused _ in such a way, I’m not disinclined.”

“Dundy, you are dreadful,” James gives him an indulgent, sleepy smile.

“I really don't…” Tozer begins, caught on the backfoot and still halfway out of the bed. They cannot be suggesting what he thinks they are. 

He looks from Fitzjames to Le Vesconte again. He would be lying if he did not confess - at least to himself - that he has certainly appreciated the officer’s good looks before; his elegant sweep of hair and charming smile, his easy humour and decent nature, to say nothing of the parts Tozer has just this moment acquainted himself with. Solomon simply never gave such thoughts any countenance, assuming that Le Vesconte’s personal tastes began and ended exclusively with women. A wrong assumption, judging by the heated look the lieutenant is levelling at him with his dark grey eyes, and Solomon finds he is pleased enough to be mistaken. It is a mistake Tozer himself often finds himself on the receiving end of, after all. 

“Sergeant, there’s no need for alarm,” Fitzjames says, propping himself up on one elbow, his unbuttoned nightshirt slipping down his shoulder, “neither of us minds sharing a bed - or sharing anything at all, for that matter - what do you say?" 

And with that he leans down to kiss Le Vesconte, who has settled himself comfortably back against the pillows between them.

Solomon watches in stunned amazement, blinking as Le Vesconte returns the kiss eagerly, closing his eyes and raising his hand to grasp Fitzjames’ shoulder. Well. He certainly had never imagined this, but now it is happening he cannot ignore the way it stirs his blood. The heat returns to his loins, and as the two handsome officers kiss and pet at one another over their nightshirts Tozer’s prick begins to rise, a delicious shiver coursing through him when it presses against his damp trousers. 

There is very little thinking to be done. After all, he has never been one to deny himself a bit of fun, especially when offered so freely.

“I shouldn’t know where to start...” he murmurs, throat dry.

Le Vesconte reaches for him again, rolling onto his side to kiss James harder and pulling Solomon’s hand back to his hip. “If we’re all in agreement,” he says, breaking the kiss only for James to begin assaulting his throat, “then you might finish what you began, sergeant?” His voice turns high at the end as Fitzjames employs his teeth. 

With a quick glance at Fitzjames, who is flushed pink already and nodding keenly at Tozer over Le Vesconte’s shoulder, Solomon wastes no time in climbing back under the covers and pressing himself to Le Vesconte’s back, who pushes back against him with a groan. 

He strokes and kneads him, rubbing his own rampant prick - now truly enamoured of the situation - into the cleft of his arse. 

James' hands soon begin to wander. He strokes Le Vesconte’s shoulder and jaw, then reaches over to touch Solomon, placing a hand on his chest and fanning his fingers across the jacket, as he often likes to. After only a few exploratory caresses he stops, snatching his hand back and pulling away from both of them to sit up again.

“Tozer!” He says, squinting at him through the pale grey light, “you are soaked through!”

“Aye, it’s raining,” Solomon frowns, pushing his damp hair back from his face, releasing Le Vesconte, who gives a dissatisfied grunt.

“I’m sorry but there are some things I will not tolerate in my bed, come on - out.” James gets up onto his knees, his thin nightshirt gathering between his legs where his arousal is plain to see. 

Solomon gets out, obediently, and Fitzjames rises to meet him. They stand together at the foot of the bed and James begins to unbutton him from neck to balls, his black eyes glittering wickedly all the while, “really, sergeant,” he tuts, pulling his coat down his arms roughly.

Tozer rather enjoys being handled so, and he is keenly aware of being observed by Lieutenant Le Vesconte - who has surely heard them through the walls before. Even Solomon's under clothes are drenched, the thin fabric clings to his skin as Fitzjames peels them away and drops them to the floor with a loud wet slap.

“If I were your senior officer you’d be getting a stern reprimand.”

“Shut yer face,” Tozer snorts, taking James’ stiff prick in hand, rubbing him through the linen and leaning in to kiss him. He thinks of this all week - these few sweet hours of blessed closeness with one he is so fond of.

They cleave to one another, James’s arms around Tozer, his hips rocking slowly against him, long fingers on the back of his neck. Goosebumps rise up on Solomon’s skin, now exposed to the cool morning air, and he teases his tongue between James’s lips to stroke inside his warm mouth. 

“By all means, gentlemen, carry on,” Le Vesconte says from the bed, “don’t spare me a thought.”

Solomon casts a glance at him in time to see him kick the bedsheets away and raise his nightshirt over his head. He lies back, stroking his prick with languorous indulgence. Tozer hardly knows where to look any more - at the fine lieutenant ministering to himself with such appreciative pleasure, gazing up at him with wanting eyes, or the fine lieutenant tugging on Solomon’s own yard and sucking at his neck.

“Have you ever had a Royal Marine before, Dundy?” Fitzjames raises his head, still squeezing Solomon’s prick.

“I have not, Jas.”

“Soon sort that out,” Tozer replies, returning to the bed, clambering over the piled up sheets and pillows to reach Le Vesconte, taking the opportunity to caress his slender hips once more. 

His skin is paler than James’, milk white below the waist and very soft, barely a freckle anywhere; only a thatch of dark hair which creeps up to his navel, in contrast with the silver on his head. He kisses his thighs, feeling the lieutenant twitch at the brush of his whiskers, and then grins, raising his lips to swallow his pink prick head.

“Good  _ god, _ ” the lieutenant huffs, straining against the mattress, his heels pressing down and his hips keeling upwards as his stiff cock hits the back of Solomon’s throat. 

Fitzjames lays himself down beside them, moving to kiss Le Vesconte again, while Tozer steadies him with a palm against his hip and regains control of the task at hand. In the corner of his eye he can see James’ prick, hard as an iron rod and as red as Tozer's uniform, joined by Le Vesconte’s slender hand, pulling with short, loose movements.

Shifting on the bed to get comfortable, Tozer delivers long, slow strokes with his tongue, tightening his lips each time he swallows, eliciting a moan of gratification that makes his own cock jump against his belly, untouched and achingly heavy.

James’ hands begin to wander once more; he rolls towards Le Vesconte and strokes his chest and belly, working down to rest his fingers in Solomon’s hair, twisting lovingly in his damp curls. Solomon shivers with pleasure at the feeling of fingernails grazing his scalp and Le Vesconte gasps, thrusting up once more. Tozer doubles his efforts, employing his hand around the root of the lieutenant’s prick, saliva webbing in his coarse black hair.

Le Vesconte begins to whine, making hurried, sharp movements as he desperately chases the sensations Tozer lays upon him. Fitzjames begins to twitch as well, and arches his back, his calf bumping against Solomon’s thigh as Le Vesconte apparently tightens his grip and frigs him with greater urgency. Tozer looks up to find the two of them are kissing again, sighing into each others’ mouths, and a flare of passion strikes up inside him at the sight. 

He is given fair warning by way of a pat on the arm before Le Vesconte spends, writhing on the sheets and groaning with fulfillment - Fitzjames is not far behind him, and his leg kicks out, beating against Tozer’s side as he gasps. Solomon swallows the briny tallow and flattens his tongue to stroke upwards once more, setting Le Vesconte trembling with breathless laughter. 

Cheeks aching and sweat sliding down his back, Solomon rises, sitting back on his knees and wiping his mouth. The rain outside has stopped and seagulls can be heard overhead, swooping through the streets in search of worms and snails brought out of their hiding places by the downpour. The sky must be clear and blue, because sunshine now streams through the thin curtains, brightening the room and creating striking shafts of golden light. 

Tozer looks at James, who is reclining once more, his belly glistening and his eyelids heavy with pleasure. He is watching Tozer back - or, more precisely, watching his cock, which is scarlet and fit to burst. 

Lieutenant Le Vesconte rises up on his elbows, breathing heavily, “I say,” he wipes his brow, “that was rather more than I expected before eight o’clock.” 

“At your service,” Tozer replies, half mocking, half pleased. 

"Now,” James reaches for Tozer’s arm, rallying once more, “what can I do for you, sergeant?"

Tozer looks at him, glowing in the clear morning light. It catches the rich brown of his hair, the shadows of his collarbone and the bloom of pink which has spread up his neck from below his nightshirt, his legs open, one knee cocked up at a rakish angle against the bed. He’s a vision; a lewd, panting portrait of desire. Solomon licks his lips, reaching to grasp his slim ankle, stroking the bone with his thumb. 

"Reckon I want what I came for, if you’re up to it."

Fitzjames’ eyes seem to flash at the suggestion, he raises his eyebrow and his tongue plays in his cheek. “Oh, I should think so.”

Tozer crawls forward to lean over him, astride one thigh and bowing down to kiss him, taking the opportunity to reacquaint himself with his handsome lieutenant’s long, powerful body as he does. He rucks up the nightshirt - thinking how it is just like him to be the only man still clothed this far into a tumble - and grasps at his hips, drags his fingers up his side with one hand while with the other he reaches down beneath the mattress for that secret blue jar. 

Fitzjames is already growing hard again, his hips rise up to meet Tozer’s, seeking pressure. Solomon must sit up again to unscrew the jar, and the lieutenant reaches across the bed to clasp his friends' hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss before directing it back down to his listing cock. Le Vesconte applies himself to the task with good nature, shifting closer and taking Fitzjames in hand with a sure, steady grip. It suddenly strikes Solomon that they must do this often, such is the easy familiarity they share. The thought of them both frigging each other on long voyages, buttoned up in their uniforms and coming apart at each others' hands brings Tozer's arousal close to crisis, heat boiling up inside him as he dips his fingers slowly into the jar of thick grease.

Fitzjames' eyelids fly open at Solomon's touch, stroking purposefully between his legs. 

"Oh, sergeant…"

Tozer presses in, not in any great hurry but not in the mood for teasing either. Fitzjames pushes against him, arching his back into the mattress, caught between Le Vesconte's fist and Solomon's fingers. His shirt, gathered up about his ribs, begins to slide back and Solomon pushes it up to his armpits, running his free hand over his hot skin, wanting to feel every bare inch of him.

When his dear lieutenant begins to turn his head and hum into the down of his pillow, rolling hips upward with increased fervour, Tozer judges him ready enough. He begins to withdraw, twisting his fingers as he does so as to draw a shuddering breath from his lover.

He strokes himself quickly with the remaining grease, then grins at his Lieutenant, who is gazing up at him glassy eyed, in a state of bawdy dishevelment, his hair sticking to his neck and his nightshirt all askew. Le Vesconte has withdrawn his own attentions, and now lies beside the lieutenant, stroking tender circles across his belly.

“C’mon then, you,” Solomon takes Fitzjames at the hips to bring him closer, rising onto his knees and lowering himself over him.

He aligns himself, then with a long satisfied groan enters him, ending with a hiccupping sigh from Fitzjames, who braces himself, knees bent and heels against the mattress. 

They go slowly at first, knowing each other's particular preferences and pace well enough to revel in the sweet enjoyment of connection. They could go on like that all morning, as far as Solomon is concerned, consumed with pumping in and out in long deep strokes, watching James's bare throat as his head rolls back.

It is Fitzjames who begins to increase the pace, rocking back with increased demand and grinds his hips down harder against Tozer’s throbbing cock. Just as the heat begins to collect and tighten in Solomon’s belly, Le Vesconte places a hand to his cheek and turns his head to kiss him, his other hand working swiftly beneath Solomon's jerking hips to bring Fitzjames closer to delight.

Overwhelmed by the rousing unfamiliarity of Le Vesconte’s hot mouth and Fitzjames' fevered moaning into his ear, Solomon thrusts his entire length into his lover with a stifled groan, the ecstatic thrill ringing through every part of him as his crisis comes upon him as suddenly and as completely as summer thunder. Helplessly rutting forward, Fitzjames takes over by wrapping his legs around Solomon's waist and squeezing him so close that his ecstasy seems to fill them both and roll between them over and over, without breaking or receding.

"Christ," Fitzjames fairly sobs once they finally slacken and Tozer holds himself suspended above him with shaking arms. His wet hair has dripped onto the pillow, leaving speckles of dark grey in the linen.

His whole body hums with satisfied exhaustion as he rolls aside, trailing a hand through the wetness on Fitzjames's stomach. Le Vesconte lies on the other side of James, and lays a soft kiss to his cheek. 

"I say, sergeant," he yawns loudly, "good show. Heart of oak indeed."

Tozer can only huff an empty laugh in reply, and rolls into Fitzjames to feel his warmth against him, hooking one leg over his. Fitzjames lies limp between them both, sleepily permitting himself to be caressed and kissed, exhaling happily when Solomon and Le Vesconte's arms meet around him.

It is some time before any of them speak again, or even move, and once more it is Le Vesconte who yawns, “I think I shall have to see to getting some breakfast.”

“Hm,” is the unmoved response from Fitzjames, who doesn’t move a muscle.

“At any rate, I had better get dressed,” Le Vesconte begins to climb out of bed, dragging the sheets halfway across the room with him. Solomon yanks them back, covering up his own bare skin against the cold morning air.

He doesn’t say anything to the cheery salute Le Vesconte tosses over his shoulder on his way out - he has no idea what would be correct to say - but Fitzjames is unbothered by his departure, and so Tozer settles back down.

“Did you say you have the whole morning free?” James finally murmurs, voice thick.

“The day,” Solomon replies with a grin.

“Plenty of time to dry your clothes, then,” Fitzjames eyes open slyly, and he rolls over to run a hand across Solomon’s shoulder. “Until then, I think you’d better stay here.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
